The Luckiest
by Tina Dragon Aries
Summary: An idea I got from Ben Fold's "The Luckiest". A small series of vignettes of what may have happened if Edward wasn't turned and survived the influenza. He meets Bella when she is three and he is ninety.


A/N: Not mine. Stephenie Meyers'.

A small smile slowly spread across his lips as his fingers flowed across the ivory keys. He lived for days like this; days when his arthritis wasn't too bad; days when he could play. Though his hands were gnarled and the skin covering them loose and wrinkly, the notes wafting through the air were beautiful. It was a comfort that even at the age of ninety, he could create beauty.

As he played, he let his thoughts wander. It had been seven years since Sarah had passed. They had loved each other, in their own way, and he missed her presence deeply. It was no fairy tale romance, nothing like his children and grandchildren were finding for themselves, but it had worked for them. The lack of passion had been made up for with companionship.

It had been ten years since his Elizabeth, his eldest daughter had passed. When he closed his eyes, he still saw his little girl, six years old, in the pink dress her mother had bought her specially for her birthday, brown curls bouncing and green eyes sparkling with mischief. Losing Elizabeth to cancer was a terrible blow for him, even more terrible than losing his wife.

He sighed. He felt old, in his skin, in his bones. His thoughts ran along his three living children, his eleven grandchildren and his eight great grandchildren. He was blessed. His life had been long and fulfilling. He had left his mark on the world through his music. He felt ready.

His slightly morbid thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash.

He got to his feet, quickly for a man of ninety and made his way to the front door. The door itself was open to let air in, the screen door closed to keep insects out.

His mailbox was on the ground, a red tricycle and a small, trembling figure next to it. He opened the screen door and went out to further investigate.

The trembling figure was a little girl, with long mahogany hair trying desperately not to cry as she cradled her left wrist.

His knees cracked in protest as he bent down to her level.

"What seems to have happened here?" he asked gently.

She looked up at him with chocolate brown eyes, shining with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry. I broke your mailbox," she answered, her voice quavering.

He glanced it at dismissively.

"It can be fixed. How's your hand?"

She bit her lips before replying.

"M-my wrist hurts."

"Here, let me see."

Those eyes, much older than the face they were in, regarded him carefully, trying to figure out if she should trust this stranger with emerald eyes. He was taken aback by them. Time froze for a moment. It almost felt as if he'd met her before, as if he'd known her once, in another life. Finally, she slowly extended her arm.

"Hold still," he told her.

He ran his hands over her wrist, his years as a field medic in World War II coming back to him, as it always did when one of his numerous descendants managed to injure him or herself. It was beginning to swell, but all of the bones felt to be in the correct place. It was only a sprain, though a decently bad one. The girl would need a splint.

Just as he was about to ask her where her parents were, a frantic woman rushed over to them. He recognized her as the eclectic kindergarten teacher from across the street and two houses down.

"Oh Bella! What have you done now?" she admonished, slight panic in her eyes.

"She seems to have had an unfortunate collision with my mailbox. I believe her wrist is sprained. I doubt it's fractured, but you might want to get x-rays just in case."

She crouched down and shot him a grateful smile.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Masen."

"No problem. I've been taking care of children for nearly seventy years. They're bound to get their injuries now and again."

"Now and again, yes. Bella is just so accident prone! Come on, sweetheart. Mr. Masen is right. Your wrist is swelling up like a balloon. We better get you to the E.R."

He stood, groaning a bit as his back ached, and she gently got the little girl to her feet.

"Thank you again, Mr. Masen. I'll replace your mailbox."

He shook his head.

"Don't worry about it; it isn't a big problem. I'll just have one of my grandsons put in a new one."

She gave him another smile, before looking down at her daughter with concern. He watched them walk off, the woman's arm curled protectively around the little girl. The girl looked at him for a brief moment over her shoulder. He smiled widely at her and she returned it with a small smile.

There was something about that girl.

He smiled to himself as he played. A rare Phoenix breeze blew in through his open windows. Every day the little girl walked past his house around 3:30PM. If it was a good day, and he was playing, she would stop and sit on the curb by his new mailbox. If his arthritis was too bad, she would pace up and down the sidewalk in front of his house a few times before moving on.

According to her mother, the wrist had only been sprained and it was completely healed now. Perhaps it was time.

He stopped playing and slowly stood up and made his way to the door. She had her head turned towards his living room window, through which she could see the empty piano bench and was frowning slightly. He couldn't help but smile.

"Isabella!" he called.

She jumped a bit, her eyes wide.

"Come here for a moment."

Again, she considered him. He almost felt like those chocolate eyes could see his soul. She nodded once, to herself, and stood up. She stumbled a bit as she made her way to his door.

"Yes, Mr. Masen?" she asked, politely.

He smiled down at her.

"I've noticed you listening on the afternoons that I play."

Blood immediately rushed to her cheeks and the blush spread its way across her entire face.

He chuckled.

"I was wondering if you'd like to learn how to play."

Her jaw dropped for a moment, before she somewhat composed herself.

"I could play?" she squeaked.

His smile widened.

"Of course you could play. Would you like me to teach you?"

She nodded earnestly.

"Go ask your mother and if she says it's okay, come tomorrow at this time."

She smiled a brilliant, genuinely happy smile and turned away. Before he could chuckle at her enthusiasm, she darted back and hugged him around his waist.

"Thank you," she whispered before letting go, blushing once more and running back to her house.

_And where was I before the day  
That I first saw your lovely face?  
Now I see it everyday  
And I know_

_That I am  
I am  
I am  
The luckiest_

_What if I'd been born fifty years before you  
In a house on a street where you lived?  
Maybe I'd be outside as you passed on your bike  
Would I know?_

_And in a white sea of eyes  
I see one pair that I recognize  
And I know_

_That I am  
I am  
I am  
The luckiest_

_I love you more than I have ever found a way to say to you._


End file.
